Of Angels and Stone
by PercyJamesEverdeen
Summary: SUPERWHOLOCK. When Weeping Angels rise in Manhattan releasing powerful, unfamiliar energies, Castiel gathers together the characters of SuperWhoLock to see what's going on. Season 6 Doctor Who, Season 6/7 Supernatural, Post Reichenbach Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1: All Together Now

**_Vermont, USA _**

**_July 13_****_th_**

It was some time during midsummer, and the sun was just becoming visible. 4:37, the clock on the laptop screen read. The cheap motel room was meekly lit – by the share of the early sun and the sharp glow of Sam's computer. Long fingers callused from years of handling weapons circled around the keyboard, every so often departing to swirl the mouse around some more. The more time that passed, the more rough Sam's actions were. He could hear _him _– his violent, sick minded teasing and his slurred singing that never seemed to stop.

_We're roomies now, Sammy-boy! We're partying like it's 1999, baby. Does Sammy not want to party? Damn. I was looking forward to our first dance._

Sam ignored the chiming voice hissing in his ear. Focusing on the scar that was now just a white smudge on his palm, he hoped for the voice to disappear. It faltered as his attention fell on it, so Sam removed his hands from his laptop to press down on the scar. A tiny lick of pain, nothing compared to what it used to be, but it still caused the voice to retreat. With wide eyes, Sam examined the motel room – Lucifer was gone. He was not real.

Frustrated, Sam slowly slid his chair back from the table – careful not to wake his sleeping brother. Dean only got a few hours a night, and Sam barely slept at all – even though his soul had been returned to him; battered by hell's fire. Now it was bruised and scarred, with a few tears left behind. Sam wasn't too worried about sleep deprivation – he'd always end up having power naps whenever he and Dean had to travel across multiple states, plus coffee was always handy at gas stations.

Sam padded across the small space between the table and fridge, where a couple bottles of beers sat and not much else. He swung open the door, grabbed the neck of a bottle and effortlessly pulled the cap off – a trick he'd learned from Dean. Sam smirked momentarily, then took a swig of the liquid as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

It must have been about two months since Cas had... _died_, basically. Two months since the leviathan had been let loose, yet nothing had been heard yet. Sam always pushed the thought of them away – the longer they stayed silent, the better.

For a while now, Sam had been wishing for the day he could stop. No more family business, no more demons – not even angels. Never had he been able to live a normal life, and though once he never wanted that day to come – now he did. Sam was now 29, and most 29 year old men had settled down with a beautiful woman and were thinking about marriage proposals and starting a family – _not _what kind of supernatural being would be dead meat next.

With a sigh, Sam walked back to his laptop – trying to find a case. Things had been quiet recently, and Sam didn't like it at all. Whenever things went quiet, he'd learnt that it meant something was wrong.

**_London, England_**

**_July 13th_**

John Watson held a look of sadness on his face – he had that look. The one where you could tell someone had been through a lot – the constant glaze of thought, the creased eyebrows, the lack of lines around their mouth from barely smiling. His job had been to stop the pain of others once. However, that had been physical pain - and not the emotional kind.

At that moment, John was grieving. And grief could not be fixed with a bandage and a couple of painkillers each morning.

The grave, still fairly new at just a month old, reflected the summer sun – giving it life, which was ironic. This grave symbolised the death of a great friend. With a flick of his wrist, John checked the time on his watch – 9:37. Today he was early.

John was not dressed smartly – his usual ratty jeans, shirt and jacket had been thrown on carelessly. The jacket was stained with what could only be coffee – he found it hard to sleep at night, so had often found himself dozing off during the day. He needed the caffeine to stay awake at work.

John, indeed, had gotten a job. He worked at a little pharmacy to earn his keep, and to distract himself from his current situation. John had seen death many times – sometimes patients of his had died, and that kept him down for a day or two. He had been used to seeing death take away people right in front of his eyes, but never had it hurt like this. Not once had he cared as much as this.

With a sigh, John stood facing the grave. He imagined Sherlock's ghost – how stupid. Ghosts didn't exist, but he thought it anyway. John imagined Sherlock watching him, his piercing eyes busy as always,

"Hello again," He murmured weakly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He could almost _feel _the sensation of Sherlock examining him. Then again, he felt that way every time he stood in front of the grave – the name SHERLOCK HOLMES stained his eyes with tears that he didn't dare set free every time he visited. John stroked his chin and licked his lip, a habit he'd developed when trying not to cry.

This visit, John had nothing to say. He had said everything over and over during his previous visits – and he felt there was nothing more to say or do. Mentally, John listed this as his last visit for a long time. He knew in his heart he needed to move on with his life, and he knew Sherlock wanted that too – maybe that was the feeling. Sherlock's "ghost" telling him to go away – it sounded a lot like him. A sad smile pulled at John's thin lips, and a half hearted chuckle escaped,

"Well... this was rather... pointless," He bent down awkwardly, and then patted the ground above where Sherlock's body would be – this petty, final show of affection actually calmed John slightly, "Goodbye, Sherlock."

John hesitated for a moment – just a small moment. A moment where he somehow managed to think of everything he'd been through with this mysterious, all knowing, slightly insane man. And then that moment ended, and John stood up. He brushed down his too dirty jeans, and left. For what he believed was forever.

**_Somewhere in the Time Vortex_**

**_Not any specific time_**

With an excited, babyish grin on his face, The Doctor skipped around the TARDIS console – flipping various levers and smacking buttons down that made strange noises. The familiar sound of the TARDIS travelling in time echoed through the never ending hallways, which pleased Amelia Pond. She had been travelling with her raggedy man for what seemed like forever – he was probably the only forever in her life. Even Rory had not been around always, though he had technically waited 2000 years for her – though that was in a reality that had never existed...

Amy shook her head. Thinking too hard made her confused, and Amy did not like being confused. Preventing herself from being confused kept her travelling everywhere with her raggedy man.

Rory was watching The Doctor dance around his precious console. His face was the personified expression of "what?", and Amy giggled. With his wide eyes, Rory glared at her,

"What?" He blurted, which caused Amy's giggle to turn into a full on laugh. The Doctor, oblivious to everything but his TARDIS, continued skipping around like the mad man he truly was. Amy strolled towards the puzzled man that was her husband,

"Nothing, nothing," She replied, then tapped his nose affectionately. The Doctor always teased Rory for his nose – but Amy always found it rather cute, "Just you."

"Just me," Rory answered after a couple seconds, then leaned towards his wife to kiss her. And at that precise moment, The Doctor decided to snap out of his excited trance. He frowned, then leapt towards the couple and pulled them apart,

"Not kissing again, please," He punched their shoulders, "It's all you two do. If it wasn't for me, all you two would do... Well. That's a rather inappropriate thing, eh?" The Doctor winked as the two Ponds frowned at him. Amy rolled her eyes,

"Says you, Raggedy Man with his River Song." She teased, receiving a dark stare. A faint blush crept up his neck, so The Doctor waltzed away once more to check on his TARDIS. Amy turned to Rory, "It's always lovely when you can tease your son-in-law."

A sudden jolt caused Amy and Rory to grab the nearest bar to them, interrupting their little teasing session. They both glanced at The Doctor, who frowned,

"That's odd," He mumbled, flicking a lever or two. The TARDIS seemed stabilised, and he shrugged, "Must have been a meteor or something, it's happened be-"

Another lurch sent shockwaves through the TARDIS, then the sensation of dropping coiled up inside the three stomachs of the people trapped inside. Rory encased Amy in his arms whilst tightening his grip around the bar he'd already been holding. Amy shrieked for The Doctor,

"I don't know what's happening!" He yelled back, stumbling around stupidly. He tried to tug at switches and slam his fists on buttons, but kept missing them due to the dropping. Stumbling over his undone laces, The Doctor fell on to the floor awkwardly. He continued to roll around like a child, attempting to get on his feet again,

"Doctor, do something!" Rory yelled, his grip on the bar loosening. He grasped Amy tightly, knowing he would fall.

And then the motion ended with an abrupt crash, and Rory and Amy then joined The Doctor on the floor,

"Ouch!" Amy cried, having hit her head on the floor. Rory, who had landed next to her, then proceeded to take Amy's face in his hands, a look of concern pasted across his face.

The Doctor scrambled to his feet, too shocked to care about Amy and Rory at that moment. Who, or what, had caused his TARDIS to drop from the Time Vortex?

_Tap tap tap tap._

Fear. Fear is what The Doctor felt as the noise boomed through the TARDIS. Four taps, simply four taps to anyone else, meant a whole lot more to him,

"Oh... _No_." He stared at the door of the TARDIS, mortified. The windows let in a stream of white light; blinding. The Doctor shielded his eyes, both his hearts pounding inside his chest furiously. It absolutely could not and should not have been. _That man_ had died long ago in The Doctor's own arms_. That man_ could not come back.

Sparks could be heard flying, and the TARDIS made strange noises that signalled there was trouble. The Doctor knew the TARDIS would shut down until the problem had been solved, so didn't move.

The light faded, so he opened his eyes. The doors of the TARDIS were wide open, and a man stood in the doorway – dressed in a suit that had been torn and drenched, with black stains on his white shirt. He took a step forward so he was inside, and the TARDIS did not like that – it revved up again, filling the room with a faint light. It slammed the doors shut, locking them.

That was when The Doctor noticed – a shadow. Not just a little one that you'd see in the corner of your eye, but a massive one, arching across the walls of the console room. He blinked hard, and felt his jaw drop - Shadowy wings plastered the walls, arching from the back of the man who had entered. Realising they were literally just shadows of wings, The Doctor spoke,

"Who are you?" His voiced sounded louder than normal, now the room had lost all background noise. A brief glance at Amy and Rory told him they were just as shocked and intrigued as he was.

The man tilted his head slightly, like a dog would when interested in something. The Doctor could sense that this man, though took the shape of one, was not human,

"My name is Castiel," He spoke, his voice raspy and nothing like The Doctor expected, "And I am an Angel of the Lord. I need you to help me." Castiel walked towards The Doctor, his hand placed forward,

"Ah, no no no... You don't want to do that, eh –" The hand touched his forehead, and suddenly The Doctor saw images – images of three men – two brothers: Sam and Dean Winchester, one just a human – Sherlock Holmes, angels, demons – One called Meg, who seemed to have a special place in Castiel's heart: a rebel demon –Heaven and Hell. Leviathans. Damned souls. God. He saw everything he needed to see in just a flash as Castiel removed his hand,

"Do you see, Doctor?" The angel used his name, although The Doctor could sense he knew much more than that about him already, "I first heard about you in Purgatory. All the things you've sent there – the evil, supernatural beings. You may have erased yourself from the Universe, but after death... They're still waiting for your blood to spill. You are magnificent, and I need your help. I need you to fetch the demon girl and those three men – remarkable, righteous men – and take us to New York City... to a place called Manhattan, I can sense extreme energies there I have never sensed before." Castiel tilted his head once more, "Will you?"

The Doctor looked at Castiel, still slightly startled from the images he'd just seen. Aliens he knew – but Heaven and Hell? Angels and demons? Never in his 1000 years had he dealt with them, or even been aware they existed,

"Well," He started, a smirk tugging at his lips, "I say: Geronimo."

Now with a fresh cup of coffee, Sam scrolled down a webpage. Reports in Manhattan of people going missing and statues literally moving blocks away from each other sounded like "their thing", so he kept the page open as he had waited for Dean to wake up. Now he had, so Sam showed him his computer screen,

"Moving statues?" Dean had a bottle of beer already, and it wasn't even 9am. He sipped some before continuing, "In New York City? Damn," Another sip, "Finally, a case in The Big Apple. Maybe we'll meet some hot famous chicks. Or just hot chicks. Either will do."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's comments, then shut his laptop. He knew Dean just put this act on. When Castiel had died, Sam had seen the look in Dean's eyes – terror, and extreme pain; just like the pain of seeing John Winchester rise out of that Hell's gate all those years ago for those mere minutes, then disappear back to The Pit. Cas had brought Dean back from what John was suffering, and that left a profound bond between the two of them that Sam and Cas would never have. Though Cas had pulled Sam out of Lucifer's cage, it simply wasn't the same – after all, his soul had purposely been left behind for a while on purpose.

The two began their usual packing drill before leaving to go on a long car journey – chuck everything in their bags and stick it in the back seat of their trusty Impala. Sam didn't have much to pack, so sat for a couple minutes with his coffee while he waited for Dean.

_Ohhh, Sammy! Luci's home! I see you got some yummy coffee – what kind? Is it burnt and ripped to shreds like your soul?_

Lucifer was sat in the chair Sam had been sat in previously, his legs up on the table. A tormenting grin revealed too-white teeth, and a quick open of it revealed his forked tongue – causing Sam to shiver.

_Looks like I hit a soft spot. Hey, Sammy, why don't you talk to me? I get ever so bored when dear Sammy won't talk to me –_

"Ready, Sam?" Dean had his bag slung over his shoulder, his bottle of beer still in hand. He reminded Sam of the scar on his hand, and he discreetly pressed down on to the mark. A quick glance, and Sam saw Lucifer was gone,

"Yeah," He replied quickly, and picked up his stuff. Still not too comfortable, Sam took another look at the chair – okay, now he was sure Lucifer was gone. The two walked out of the motel room, slamming the door shut behind them.

The Impala sat in the nearly abandoned car park, looking blacker than usual against the bright sky. The two brothers lugged their stuff towards the car, and once reaching it they flung open the back doors and dumped their stuff in the back seats. Once the two had clambered into the car themselves and were comfortable, Dean took another few swigs of beer. Sam sighed,

"Dean, you shouldn't drink that and drive," He knew he sounded like a whiny father, babying his son along – but Sam didn't want to have to deal with Dean driving lousily for 6 hours, "Look, I get you miss Cas –"

"Who's saying this is to do with him?" Dean grumbled, placing the bottle in the drinks holder. He revved up the engine, beginning to reverse out of the parking space,

"Well, before he died you didn't drink this much. I mean – that's saying something, since you drank a lot back then anyway," He started, "Look, I wish you'd just tell me how you feel, okay? You made me tell you about seeing Lucifer, and you helped me." Sam quickly took a look at the rear-view mirror, making sure Lucifer wasn't sat eavesdropping. Fortunately, he wasn't – Sam sighed with relief, "Why can't I help _you_, Dean? I'm not your baby brother anymore." He folded his arms, expecting a furious reply from his older brother. However, none came. Not even a dirty look was thrown at him.

Minutes dragged on with no reply, which was unlike Dean. Sam turned his attention to the window; his brother was clearly to mad to answer or even acknowledge Sam's existence for the time being. Unlike the tense atmosphere inside, the Impala hummed along the road calmly, it's stereo muted for the first time in months.

Another few minutes past, and suddenly the car was being pulled over to the side of the highway. It was still early morning, so no cars honked at them angrily. Sam glanced at Dean, who avoided eye contact,

"Dammit, Sam!" He yelled, smacking his fisted hands against the wheel. A moan of frustration tumbled out of his mouth, "That stupid, bitching angel means more to me than anyone will ever know. And he freaking died on me, Sammy. That son of a bitch died, and left me. I really needed him, and _he left_!" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Silence was thick for a few sluggish seconds, "Losing him is worse than... Worse than losing Dad."

He looked at Sam at last, his eyes were glazed and full of tears. He looked more broken than when he had been describing Hell to Sam for the first time,

"If I could just stop this stupid hunting, I would. But I'm not done until I slay every single one of these leviathan bitches and then send every demon back to the damn Pit forever. After that, I'm done. I refuse to lose another damn person because of these dicks."

Sam was shocked to hear Dean say that – he'd always been the one who wanted to keep the business going. He'd always thought Dean felt like he had no other options, now that Lisa and Ben didn't remember him. Awkwardly, Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder,

"I swear the second this is over..." Sam paused, wondering if he should be humorous or not. Deciding now was clearly not the right time, he spoke in a serious tone, "When this is over, we're gonna find Ben and Lisa. You're gonna have a life-"

"They won't want me, Sammy –"

"Shut up, Dean. I'm pretty sure we could find an angel somehow and force them to make those two remember you. They owe us that at least. You'll move in with them and have a family, then I'll move in some place close by. Maybe I'll even find a girl I'll love as much as I loved Jess," He bit his lip – almost 8 years, and he still missed the love he'd had with that gorgeous woman he was so sure he'd end up marrying happily. Though Sam knew he shouldn't, he still blamed himself for her death.

Dean looked Sam right in the eye, the tears now spilling over his freckled cheeks. They made the poor man look almost childlike as her cried. Not for the first time, Sam felt responsible for his big brother – he wanted to help him like Dean always did for him,

"This time, "Sam grasped his brother's shoulder tighter, "This time it's going to finish. After we freaking burn those leviathans, we're running." He let go, then gestured towards the wheel, "We better get going if we want to be there before dark."

With no reply, Dean started the Impala once more – calmed by the steady purr of the engine as it rolled along the highway.

**_London, England, July 13_****_th_**

**_Just after John has walked away_**

_"I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."_

Fire – that was all Sherlock could see. Fire, black smoke and the piercing feeling of metallic chains tangled around his ankles and wrists. Sherlock could scream until his voice turned into a rough, feeble cry. His skin would be sliced and torn – the sickening sound of ripping flesh was no stranger to him. Once he had been well and truly destroyed, he'd just get put back together again like a living puzzle; over and over – for what seemed to be centuries.

Those had been his dreams, but now they were his reality.

One second, he'd been totally in control – then someone seemed to be puppeting him around. The next, he was flying – then collided with the solid ground. For a second he'd been there – leaking and cracked like a carelessly tossed egg. The next he was burning, always burning,

"John!" He cawed, his voice shattered like a mirror. The usual mantra of yelling John's name and never hearing a reply was all Sherlock ever received. So why did he try? There was no logic in it whatsoever.

Reddened metal seared his already burnt ankles and wrists, causing a yelp of pain to fall out of Sherlock's throat. If this was where the "sinful" souls ended up, forever burning and breaking, Sherlock hoped not another person would suffer this – for the first time in his life, Sherlock wished for the ending of pain inflicted on other humans suffering the same fate as him.

A slice through his chest told Sherlock he was going to regenerate soon – he'd be fixed for a couple seconds, and those couple seconds without hurting would be heaven to him. How ironic – a few seconds of heaven inside what was literally Hell.

However, the slicing turned into a white-hot grasp – Sherlock tried to scream, but his vocal chords felt as though they'd been violently torn open and out of his throat. Light flowed into his eyes, and he continued to silently scream.

There was only darkness; nothing burned anymore. Hell's fire did not bite him with its blistering, acidic flames. There was not the dizzying stench of smoke and dead flesh – no more echoes of skin being shredded.

Sherlock experimentally wiggled his fingers, and when he felt the delightful sensation of painless movement, Sherlock lifted his head. It hit something solid above him – powder fell on his angular face and into his mouth. The unpleasantly moist taste of soil tickled at his taste buds.

A ridiculously smart man Sherlock was, and one would be a fool to deny it, but it took him a couple of seconds to realise he was indeed inside his own coffin. He furiously kicked and punched upwards, more soil caving in on him. After he managed to crack the majority of the lid, he began paddling his hands furiously through the black substance, grunting and spitting out any soil that ended up in his mouth. Sweat dribbled down his neck and face as time went on, mixing with the earth and plastering itself against his pale skin like bandages. Breathing was difficult in the stuffy dirt – there was only used air and nothing fresh or clean.

After hours of scrambling through thick soil, Sherlock was exhausted – he had barely dug a foot, and as far as he knew graves were 6 feet underground. He knew he was brilliant, but not brilliant enough to get out of this one – logically, it was impossible,

"John," he murmured, lips stained sooty by soil, "Please," Another first – Sherlock felt hopeless and alone. Had Hell brought out the little emotion left in his sociopathic brain? He was too exhausted to wonder, and believed it illogical to do so anyway, so shut his eyes and waited for the ground to swallow him; steal the air from his lungs. Letting himself die again was the logical thing to do.

Something hot looped around his wrist – not like the chains of Hell; more like a comforting kind of heat – the heat felt when sat in front of a fire during the bitter winter months.

Cool air filled his lungs – like liquid pleasure was being dumped down his gullet. A whip of a comforting breeze slapped him right in the face, so Sherlock inhaled and exhaled – sweet air like sugar,

"So this is the boy you wanted dragged out," A female voice rang in Sherlock's ears, "Cute. His cheekbones are rather... fine," She sounded like the kind of woman who purposely tried to sound bad, and she was foreign – an American accent rolled from her tongue,

"Yes. A man made a deal with Crowley to sell this man's soul to Hell. God ordered I bring this one back too," A rough, male voice replied – definitely not John. It sounded stoic and monotone – a serious, possibly religious man, "A parallel of what happened with Dean, you might say." The male paused at the name Dean – obviously he was important to this man.

Sherlock abruptly opened his eyes and sat up, bored of lying like a dead cat on the floor. He noticed the dirt caking him, but he decided to ignore it – he stood up, and examined the two people in front of him.

Both looked rather confused as he stood. The female was dressed all in black with long, waving hair – a snarky aura made Sherlock dislike her instantly. Next to her, the male looked like he'd received the same fate as Sherlock – his suit was stained with black and ripped like an old rag,

"Sherlock Holmes," The male spoke, taking several steps forward. Sherlock remained straight faced, continuing to inspect the man, "Do not be alarmed,"

"Alarmed?" Sherlock scoffed a frown on his face, "I have no reason to be." He could see he'd thrown the man off guard, so instead raised his head ever so slightly and removed the scowl, "Who are you?" He didn't bother asking how the man knew his name – many people seemed to. He was used to it,

"My name is Castiel – this is Meg - and I am an angel. I will explain later. Right now, I need you to come with me." Castiel raised two fingers and held the hand of Meg – were they lovers? – And Sherlock chuckled,

"Alright," he spat, "No time to get used to home, I see – how long was I in there for? Must have been years." Sherlock look intently at Castiel's hand as it faltered,

"Time in Hell is different. You were there for a month, which can feel like anything from 10 years to 10 centuries. Now, you're coming with me," The man gave Sherlock no time to reply and touched his fingers to Sherlock's forehead – barely anything – and Sherlock was ready to throw his head back and laugh. However, he stopped – the graveyard was gone, and now replaced by what looked like the control room you'd expect to see in sci-fi films on a space ship,

"What?" Sherlock saw three other people – two men, one with an abnormally large nose and the other sporting a bow tie and a tweed jacket. The other was a carroty haired girl, whose skin was far too much like white porcelain for Sherlock's liking,

"Sherlock Holmes," The man in tweed said, slightly awed, "What a pleasure. My name's The Doctor! I see you've met Castiel and Meg, here." He gestured towards the two awkwardly, clearly only having just met them,

"And where are we?" Sherlock sighed, flicking off a ball of dirt from his tattered sleeve. The large nosed man watched his warily,

"This is the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. Yes, spacey wacey wibbley wobbley timey wimey things. I'm far too lazy to explain – let's get these Winchester boys!" The Doctor walked towards the console that was littered with levers, buttons, screens – all the usual space ship things. He flipped 3 switches, then slammed down a large button – and a strange noise echoed throughout the room.

Sherlock did not register any emotion, which was what he was good at. Strange this was for him, but he did not wish to react.


	2. Chapter 2: Angels Everywhere

_**Massachusetts, USA**_

_**1:42pm**_

The highway was mind numbing – the typical repetition of grey roads, clouds and cars made Sam's eyes droopy. Drops of rain fell from the curtained sky, and each drop seemed to remind Sam of angels. Like them, raindrops were controlled and when they wanted to, they could be chaotic and destructive. Cas had been controlled once, and then suddenly he was wiping out masses of his species – like how hurricanes could shatter entire towns at once.

Randomly, the thought of combustion gave Sam the image of Ruby burning up as she was murdered by her own blade. How long had it been? It must have been about 3 years since she'd turned to a wilted corpse in his arms. A pang in his stomach reminded him of the feelings he'd had for her, along with triggering a headache. For the first time since Jess, he'd been sure of his feelings for the demon girl that was so stubborn about 'helping' him. A sharp pulse in his head made Sam unwillingly grumble, so he gulped down some more coffee,

"You okay there, Sammy?" Dean heard his brother through the pounding AC-DC. He turned it down for Sam's sake – he knew his younger brother didn't exactly have the same taste as him.

He'd dismissed it as a headache, but Sam's head was really beginning to throb,

"Yeah... Yeah do you have any painkillers? Think I'm getting a migraine..." Sam massaged his forehead with his free hand,

"Sam, we just stopped at a damn gas station. Could you time your migraines better? They're not like the ones from... You know. _Yellow Eyes_, right?" Dean leaned towards his brother, who squeezed his eyes shut and smashed his coffee cup down.

It probably wasn't Yellow Eyes – it couldn't be, he was _dead_ – but it sure felt like it. The pounding was like a drum in his brain, only a hundred times louder and more powerful. It roared and boomed like untamed thunder in his head.

Once again, for the third time that day, Dean pulled the Impala over. Irritated, he heaved himself out of the car. Instead of walking around to open Sam's door, he stopped and stared across the highway.

As he looked across, he saw a man in a shredded black suit – a blue tie stained brown was knotted backwards. Though Dean could not technically see them, he sensed the deep blue of the angel's eyes that he had become so familiar with.

Forgetting Sam – as selfish as it was – he cried out the name that had been rarely used by his lips for so long,

"_Cas_!" He bellowed, his voice echoing past the cars zooming past him. Dean quickly turned to make sure Sam wasn't dying _– Cas would help him –_ and turned back to run across the road.

However, the _raggedy_ angel was gone,

"Dean!" Sam called from the car, diverting Dean's attention. His brother was trying to get out of the car whilst pressing his palms to his head, but dropped to the floor like a rock. And that was when the images flowed violently into his head:

_A man fell from the top of a building, then thumped into a crumpled heap on the paved floor. Black and gold, a grave shone in the morning sun – Sherlock Holmes. In front of the grave stood a regular looking man patting the ground, then he sauntered off into the distance with tears in his dark eyes._

_The image flickered into one of Castiel and Meg standing over the same grave – talking quietly. Sam could not hear them, but noticed they were acting _much_ friendlier than the typical angel and demon would. The dirt in front of the grave – the precise spot that had been patted – seemed to start rumbling, then the ground coughed up the man who had fallen. _

_Another image, but with a familiar face – Dean pulling himself out of the ground where he had been buried by Sam almost 4 years ago._

_Blue began falling into place, into the shape of a box – an old English Police Box. Jerkily, the vision Sam opened the door of the box. It took a while for him to realise the inside was bigger, with a huge control room – it looked alien, but not in the stereotypical _alien _way._

_Three men and two women stood together – Sam couldn't help but notice how beautiful the taller of the women was. Tall in a way that wasn't so awkward, hair a soft shade of red; one of the men – who had a childish grin pasted across his face – tapped her nose,_

"_Righty, Pond. Let's find these Winchesters."_

_Involuntarily, Sam turned around in the vision. The doors he had walked through were now blocked by a grey figure – one that hid its eyes with its stony hands. A second later, Sam realised the hands _were_ actually real stone. Blinking hard to make sure he wasn't hallucinating – he then flinched in shock. The figure had moved closer to him by at least a foot, revealing it's solid eyes,_

"_Sam!" A coarse voice rumbled through his head – familiar, but Sam was too dazed to know who it was, "Don't blink, Sam! Whatever takes the image of an angel _is_ an angel!" He felt a hand touch his head lightly – similar to a feather; then found himself in a completely white room. Sam saw the hand with slender fingers moving away from his eyes, and recognised the face behind it,_

"_Cas?" Sam said, knowing it was stupid. Of course it was Cas – his trench coat and after-sex style hair was enough evidence,_

"_Sam. I need you to wake up now. They're in your head now, Sam!" Cas sounded angry – not at Sam, but himself, "Wake up!"_

"Wake up!"

The combined voices of Dean and Cas made Sam's sea-coloured eyes burst open. A sharp intake of air was sucked into his lungs, and he rapidly sat up,

"Sammy, are you okay? What happened?" His brother's face was in front of his, caked with concern, but behind that was what Sam's attention was on.

Castiel was walking up to them. He was dressed in a suit that could pass for rags – it was stained all sorts of dirty colours and his previously white shirt looked yellow. Speechless, Sam simply gawked at the sight – which in turn caused Dean to look, and the change in pace of his heartbeat could literally be heard. Dean, too, also seemed at a loss for words,

"Hello, Dean," Cas said, his eyes filled with something Sam could not quite define – though it must have been some form of guilt. Silence fell for a couple long seconds, "The others will be here soon, I need you not to be alarmed,"

"_Others_?" Dean finally spoke, his voice a touch higher than normal. He swallowed, standing away from his brother, "What?"

As if planned, a robotic sound began fading slowly into hearing, the volume increasing gradually. It sounded like a machine, but not one of the brothers had heard anything like it before – Castiel simply stood with an impassive expression. Behind him, Dean swore he could see something blue – then he was certain. Something blue was fading into their reality in the same rhythm as the mechanical noise.

Once the object – A blue Police Box, which scared Sam – had landed, the door opened inwardly, and a man hopped out,

"Castiel, your girlfriend is a big nuisance – messing with my TARDIS! Nobody messes with my TARDIS! Except River – Well – oh!" He stopped, straightened his red bow tie, and smiled, "You must be Sam and Dean – hello! I'm The Doctor, wonderful to meet you!" The Doctor leapt towards Dean, noticed he was a couple inches taller, then stood on his toes to kiss both his cheeks – making the 'smooch' sound effects. Dean grimaced in confusion. Sam stared at The Doctor in horror, which caused the smile to fade from his face,

"Alright, alright. I know I'm having a bad hair day, doesn't mean you need to look like that!" He swept his hand through his fringe, then stuck it out to Sam, "Last I checked, the floor wasn't very comfortable," The Doctor helped him get up, and gaped as he saw how much taller Sam was, "Well, aren't you going to be the _big_ elephant in the room, eh?"

"Well... It's either that or Moose," Sam said mostly to himself, still feeling jittery from the vision.

Behind The Doctor, four more people stepped out of the TARDIS. Castiel's eyes simply brushed over the first three people, then focused on Meg for much longer, which Dean noticed. He didn't say a thing, but reminded himself to have a 'dude-to-dude' talk with the angel later. Not recognising any of the people who'd just stepped out of the box apart from Meg, Dean turned to his brother – then sighed dramatically. Sam was giving lovey-dovey eyes to the girl that wasn't Meg – who, Dean had to admit – had a rather _appealing_ face,

"Sammy," He hissed, elbowing his brother. Sam slowly turned to look at his brother; "Her hand," Dean had a habit of checking whether a girl was married before he _did things _with them, and had noticed there was a ring on this woman's finger. He smirked at Sam, who scowled like a child,

"Sam, Dean," Cas started, finally taking his gaze off Meg, "This is Amelia Pond, Rory Williams and Sherlock Holmes. Obviously... you've met Meg before," he shuffled awkwardly,

"_Amelia Pond_?!" Sam exclaimed loudly – it was indeed a significant name to him. After all, his first kiss had been with an Amelia Pond who later called herself Amy. The Amelia stood in front of him studied him with a slightly disturbed expression, twirling her ginger hair. The man who went by Sherlock rolled his eyes,

"Don't go after her, boy. You don't have a chance in –" He halted, rethinking his sentence, "She's married. Now stop staring."

The rude remark caused Sam to flush and take a step closer to Dean, which was a habit of his that he had developed whenever he felt threatened. Rory sent a razor-sharp glare in his direction, which unnerved Sam even more. He hadn't even _spoken_ to the guy and he was already on his bad side,

"Right, uh," The Doctor clapped his hands together, walking closer to the TARDIS, "Well, we better get going. What shall I call you – my crew? Yes. This is my crew! Anyways, come along all, come along." He trotted through the open TARDIS doors, disappearing inside. Amy, Rory and Sherlock followed,

"I am not going inside that thing," Sam stated firmly, his heart starting to pump blood a little faster – that statue, whatever it had been, had terrified him, "That – _thing_, what even was it? I've never seen anything like that before,"

Dean frowned in confusion, "What are you on about, man?"

Cas moved silently towards the two brothers, Meg at his side. _Like a little puppy dog. _Dean thought to himself, annoyed that he'd probably end up being stuck in the same room with the bitch for multiple hours at a time,

"I sense... similar energies from you like the ones in Manhattan. They're weak, but they're definitely present," the angel looked at Sam hard, tilting his head the way he always did, "In your vision, when I told you to wake up... I don't seem to remember what happened. I just know I made you wake up." Cas frowned, "Perhaps we should wait –"

"Oi! You lot!" The small crowd all turned to see The Doctor poking his head out of the TARDIS doors, "We're meant to be going! Stop gossiping and get in here, would you?"

"Wait, wait – who said we were going with you?" Dean looked from The Doctor to his brother,

"I did," The voice of Cas was suddenly next to Dean's ear, causing him to jump, "Well, technically I didn't say it. You're coming with us,"

Cas pressed his fingers to the heads of Sam and Dean – though the TARDIS was only a few metres away – and took them into the TARDIS,

"Stupid boys." Meg muttered, "Not even capable of walking themselves a couple metres."

The Doctor had never seen so many people in his TARDIS, not since he'd been walking around with another man's face, and it thrilled him. Though most people there were strangers, he still felt the warm feeling of being surrounded by people.

He watched warily as Dean and Sam entered the TARDIS – Sam looked petrified, his eyes enlarged and he quickly whirled around to face the door as if something behind him had panicked him. This puzzled The Doctor, and as the tall man turned to face the TARDIS console once more, the fear seemed to have deceased – but not completely. An edge of uncertainty swam around in his eyes.

Dean's reaction was quite the opposite: "What the hell?" he uttered under his breath, then eyed up The Doctor with a creased brow, "Son of a bitch has a magic wardrobe – what are you, a Trickster?" He began reaching into the bag that had been tossed over his shoulder, but his brother stopped him,

"I saw this... in the vision, Dean. It's okay," Sam spoke in a low voice, which meant 'we'll talk about it later'. The Doctor chuckled,

"Ah, no Dean. Tricksters are a lot creepier looking, although I must say I'm not exactly the prettiest flower in the field – ha-ha! I'm a Time Lord, I travel through time and space in my spare time. No Trickster-ing. Cross my hearts!" He drew out an "X" shape over where each of his hearts were. Dean pulled a face of bewilderment, clearly not having the faintest idea what The Doctor was on about. However, he'd seen much weirder than a man claiming he had two hearts – so pushed the thought of it into the back of his brain, along with all the other crap he wished to forget. If Cas trusted this lunatic, then he was prepared to do something similar.

Sherlock lurked around the console, gliding his fingers over the many components. He'd never seen things like this, and it irritated him greatly. This was unfamiliar, and barely anything was ever unfamiliar to him. In fact, since the second he'd thrown himself off that roof, everything had been unfamiliar. He simply wanted to be back in 221B Baker Street with John, searching for crimes to solve that were _familiar_.

The red haired woman, whose skin was much too flawless, walked up to Sherlock, a soft smile on her rouged lips. Up close, Sherlock could now see that a few faded freckles were scattered across her cheeks,

"Strange at first, isn't it?" The woman, Amelia, said. Sherlock hadn't really heard her speak before, and noticed a Scottish lilt to her speech,

"That would be correct. I'm not entirely sure what all this tit-tat is," He looked her in the eye, and could see splashes of kindness in them. This woman was very accepting and caring, but also cared about how she looked. However, she didn't do it to make herself noticeable – she did it for herself. Sherlock inferred all this just from a small glance at her face, "It's not my strong point, unfortunately, Amelia,"

"Please, call me Amy," She hovered her index finger over a pair of levers, "They're stabilisers. How about everyday you're here I tell you the name of a new part of the console, hmm? Anyways, I better get back to Rory..." She hushed her voice to a whisper, "He gets a little jealous, the poor thing,"

Before Sherlock could reply, Amy twirled around towards her husband, and began to talk to him instead. Sherlock was, once again, alone in a room full of people who were _unfamiliar_.

Cas shivered. He could sense many strange energies, and it worried him. Even when Lucifer had risen out his cage, he hadn't felt something as powerful as this – for the first time ever, Cas felt the emotion of "fear",

"You're looking rather pale, Clarence. You getting homesick?" A swish of dark hair alerted Cas of Meg's presence. She always unearthed new feelings inside Cas, and he wasn't entirely sure what they were. Emotions were new to him, and defining them was difficult without some assistance,

"I sense an alarming amount of energies from Manhattan," He stated, purposely not looking at the demon. Instead, he focused his gaze on the two Winchester boys, who were talking quietly in a corner, "Meg, why did you agree to come?"

She let out a little snigger, "Can't I tag along sometimes? I'm on your side," A hand unexpectedly skirted up the sleeve of Cas's muddy suit, so he flinched and looked right into the demon's eyes. He expected them to be completely human, as demons had the ability to hide their obsidian gaze – however the chocolate irises had flecks of black, so small they couldn't be seen unless looked into deeply...

"Clarence? You're staring rather tremendously there... You getting your feathers in a mess?" Cas could see Meg's eyes squint slightly, and when he looked down to her reddened lips he could see a mischievous smile, "Alright then. I think you should have a nap... and that's saying something. You winged beauties don't appear to like catching Zs."

"Angels don't sleep, Meg," He replied, unaware of the sarcasm. It amused Meg how oblivious the angel could be even after several years of walking among humans,

"Well, we're quite the polar opposites then. Anyways, I'm off to find the bathroom, Clarence. _Lady Problems._" The demon tapped Cas's cheek with her index finger, then began walking towards a corridor to their left. Cas liked the way her heeled boots tapped in an even rhythm as she strolled, and he let himself smile.

Off to his right, the angel heard The Doctor yell something about a bumpy ride – and watched as he pulled down a lever. The mechanical noise of the engine whirred and rumbled through the console room, which the angel no longer found peculiar. However, when he turned to the two Winchester brothers, they were gripping on to the walls for dear life – and it amused the angel. They had both faced Hell and the Devil himself, yet they found a control room making noises much scarier,

"You boys are rather wimpy for a pair of giants, you know," The Doctor leaned casually against the console, his arms folded to reveal the leather patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket, "We're just flying – _well_, technically no – but we'll just say flying so we don't have to get all boring and technical about it," A hollow boom rang through the ears of the people inside, "Here we are. Already here! Off we pop," The Doctor turned to see Sherlock behind him along with the Ponds, "Ooh. I've not been to New York since _1969_! This should be exciting!" He pounced away from the console, briskly walking towards the doors – a bounce in his step,

"Did I just hear New York? I'm pretty sure that's every girls dream, right?" The voice of Meg drawled from down the corridor she'd walked towards before. As she appeared, Cas noticed she had applied some make up to her round face – most notably, some bright red lipstick that stood out against her dark hair. His wings unintentionally ruffled behind his shoulders – when Meg had said 'Lady Problems' this has not been his thought.

Feeling as though he should say something, Cas cleared his throat and spoke the first thing that came to mind: "You look very pretty," the angel said with a barely visible smile. The compliment sounded awkward in his raspy, monotone voice – and it earned a glance from every person in the room,

"Dear God," Sherlock rolled his eyes. Since he'd been on the TARDIS, he had changed out of his muddy clothes and was wearing some of The Doctor's old ones. He looked like one of the Time Lord's old faces in a long, murky brown coat and a pinstripe suit with a little red tie poking out. Cas had discovered many things whilst in Purgatory, "Is everyone just going to flirt?"

The detective marched towards the TARDIS doors, muttering something about couples being a nuisance.

The TARDIS had landed under a tree in Central Park – the grass was greener than most places, even if it was in a busy city where pollution would be high. Zooming down roads, yellow taxis carried people to wherever they wanted to go – drivers would honk at their work partners as they drove past, giving each other a little wave. Visitors at the park were laying on rugs and blankets, eating various picnic foods and enjoying the outdoors.

It was a sunny day in New York – nobody would have guessed there was a possibility of anything going wrong.

Now a crowd, everyone had stepped out of the TARDIS and surrounded The Doctor. Everyone considered him the leader, which gave him mixed feelings – he liked it when humans trusted him, but then the side thought of letting them down haunted him. In his many years, he felt as though he had let down so many innocent people. He shook his head – not this time. Nobody would be hurt or left this time,

"Alright, gang!" He clapped his hands together, and began pacing back and forth slowly, "Castiel here can sense – how did he put it? – 'strange energies' from this area-"

Sam coughed, interrupting The Doctor, "There's also been a report of statues moving, along with people going missing. Dean and I were gonna work a case here before you guys came along," the remark caused the Time Lord to stop pacing. With a frown, he turned to face the taller man, who had informed him,

"_Oh_... I know what it is," Memories of stone angels filled his head – In England, when his face had been different, and then at the crash of the Byzantium with his lover. His gaze trailed over to Amy, who was terrified of the cold beings – that had been made clear when she had walked through a forest full of them, and had possessed one inside her head, "Angels,"

His eyes remained on Amy's, and he noticed them dilate with fright. Cas stared at The Doctor, confused as to what he had just said, "They are not angels, Doctor-"

"I didn't mean _your_ kind. Angels made of stone, Weeping Angels. They send people back in time, then feed off the energy released from it." The Winchesters and Sherlock had not seen The Doctor be serious before, so this new side to him was a surprise. The Time Lord sniffed, urging to be a little humorous to break the sudden tension, "Cas, you smell like a Cyberman's bottom. That isn't good, by the way – they smell _really_ bad. You might want to shower and change out of that rubbish – people might look at you funny."

Once again, the crowd all turned their heads to look at Cas. Most would have been embarrassed, but the angel kept a straight expression – which wasn't unusual, whenever anyone communicated with him his expression tended to stay the same. Without a word, he stepped into the TARDIS, closing the doors behind him. The Doctor began to speak again, but literally a second later the angel stepped outside again – pushing the door instead of pulling it, to The Doctor's dismay – clothed in a clean black suit, a new tan trench coat and a freshly shaved face,

"Sorry, I took a little longer than expected," More glances. Cas smiled as if it was completely normal,

"Right, well... I vote we split up and check on statues," The Doctor started, "They move when you blink, so if one moves when you blink... Keep a distance. Don't go alone," The Time Lord pointed at Sherlock, "You, come with me. The rest, I think your pairs are clear. Let's go on an Angel hunt."


	3. Chapter 3: Hell's Disguise

_**Central Park, 2:34**_

Sam pushed his long fingers through his dark hair as he walked alongside his brother down a winding path. New York was hot, but the trees provided a blanket of shade to stop him from turning into a sweaty giant – which happened _a lot._

Only Sam knew what to expect – after all, according to The Doctor's description, he'd seen a Weeping Angel in his vision. When he said 'they move when you blink', he really meant it – not even an _actual_ angel could move as fast as the thing in the vision.

He remembered seeing the face of Amelia when the subject of Weeping Angels had been brought up – obviously she had handled them before, and it didn't end well. Sam didn't _know_ Amelia – he had no reason to even feel sorry for her in the slightest.

_Does Sam have a cruuuush? Well, we know how that ends. The girl dies... or runs off with someone else... oops! She already did!_

To his left, the bloody, peeling skin on the face of Lucifer's vessel seemed far more lifelike than in normal hallucinations – but Sam _knew_ it wasn't real; Lucifer was locked up in The Cage. He found himself subconsciously squeezing the faded cut on his hand, only feeling pressure and not pain – but the thought of it made the man haunting him disappear like a spirit struck by iron. The younger Winchester sighed, then heard his brother stop moving,

"You seen anything yet, Sammy?" The older Winchester spoke, interrupting his brother's thoughts. Just in case Dean had missed anything, he took a quick scan around before making eye contact with Sam,

"Nope. Almost like they fled or something," He replied, hiding his shock expertly. After months of seeing the Devil, Sam had learned to suppress his fear when around other people. However, Dean knew his brother extremely well – they'd been hunting together for practically 6 years straight,

"You have that thinking look of yours on," He commented, then placed his hands on his hips, "You thinking 'bout that Amelia chick?" Sam always tended to crush on a girl _really_ hard before actually trying with them – he'd even resist them if he could - Dean was the total opposite. He could flirt and charm and get the lady, but his brother always got the lady and often much more without even doing anything. That was the one thing Dean hated about his brother's way around girls – the rest was boyish and awkward, which made the older Winchester cringe.

Sam's mouth opened and shut, resembling a goldfish. Smiling, his older brother assumed he was right – which in this case, for once, he wasn't,

"Look, I looked at her for like two seconds, Dean –"

"Ah ah ah, not so fast. A crush is a crush, Sammy-boy! But dude, seriously, I think you have a thing for girls called Amelia..." The statement caused Sam to frown, and he began walking down the path once again – sensing this conversation would end up getting awkward. One time, back when the two brothers had started hunting together, Dean had got into a full on conversation that started with female ghosts and ended with his favourite sex position. Ever since, Sam had really hated talking about girls to his brother,

"Uh... Okay. Why?" He replied, purposely sounded uninterested. Unfortunately, Dean never seemed to understand uninterested tones,

"For a start, back when you were a midget you kissed that kitsune called Amelia. Then in high school you dated that Emily girl who was _really_ called Amelia for like, a whole month. Now you see another Amelia – who in all fairness is really damn hot – and you're crushing on her. So you're Amelia-sexual," The older brother grinned as if he'd won an award.

Sam gave a small laugh, "Right. Amelia-sexual," he looked up, and stopped in his tracks.

Hands covering its face, about 20 metres away, stood an angel statue. Sam knew it was a Weeping Angel – it looked exactly the same as the thing he saw his vision; grey and innocent looking, until it wanted to strike. The older Winchester continued walking, muttering something about how to flirt properly, "Wait – Dean,"

Dean stopped, seeing the concerned expression on his brother's face, instantly realising what Sam had seen. Not knowing what to expect, Dean turned to look in the direction of his brother's gaze – seeing a stone angel statue, looking as if it was crying like a child,

"Well that isn't so bad," He commented, then blinked. Of course, as The Doctor said, the angel had moved about 2 metres closer to them. Dean didn't dare to turn away from the angel, keeping his eyes as wide open as he could,

"Call Cas!" Sam ordered, keeping his sea-coloured eyes open too. Already they were stinging from the lack of blinking; his eyelashes filled with moisture,

"Cas... We could do with a hand right now!" The older brother, being closer to the angel, was more likely to get an answer – Cas was wandering around with Meg, and Dean couldn't help but imagine what kind of unholy things they'd be doing.

A flutter behind the two brothers alerted them of Cas' presence, and they both sighed simultaneously with relief. Neither brother turned to face the angel, who had brought Meg along with him,

"Why are you facing the tree?" He asked, then shuddered. An overwhelming rush of energy and a familiar noise turned his insides cold – he had to grab Meg's shoulder to stop himself from toppling over,

"You a little tipsy, Clarence?" The demon, though cold in tone, affectionately put her arm across the angel's front to stop him falling on his face – she, too, could feel something in the air. It was almost like sitting in a room full of dust and inhaling,

"Would one of you lovebirds please just goddamn look at the thing so I can blink!" Dean growled, unaware that the statue was making Cas feel weak. Without replying, Meg lowered the angel so he could sit on the floor and then prepared herself for a stare off,

"You can blink now," She stated, her dark eyes fixed, unblinking, on the statue before her. Dean turned around, seeing his best friend on the floor. He crouched down,

"Dean – they're not just statues... I can hear it talking," The angel croaked, pain clear on his face. Rumbling inside his ears, he could hear the Enochian language pounding, "I think it's –" He coughed, "- I think it's a fallen angel."

/\/\/\/\

The two Ponds walked around the North side of Central Park, meaning to be looking for angel statues – however, it ended up turning into more of a date. Rory was glad to finally be alone with his wife – partly so they wouldn't have The Doctor interrupting them every time they tried to kiss, and also because he _couldn't stand _that tall nerdy guy staring at her. Often people would stare at Amy – she was undeniably an extremely beautiful woman – but never the way Sam had. As if claiming her, Rory laced his fingers into his wife's, proud to call her his own. He could feel the cool metal of the rings on her finger, binding them together forever.

Amy's reaction was instant – Rory could feel the pressure of her long fingers on the back of his hand. The motion caused him to step a little closer to her as they moved forward, their shoulders brushing against one another,

"I haven't seen any... Maybe they're all gone," Rory began tugging his wife's arm to pull her to stop with him,

"As much as I'd love to think that... Sam did say there were reports," _Sam_. Rory tried to push down a frown at the thought of him,

"Well, if we do see one, who do we call? The Doctor doesn't have a mobile, last I checked..." Rory trailed off as his wife stepped closer to him. They must have been together for over ten years, yet he could still be left astounded by just a short glance at her face,

"We go back to the TARDIS and get his attention, then." Amy prodded her husband in the chest, then slid her lips over his. A content smile on Rory's lips caused their kiss to end up getting mouthy and awkward, so he backed away,

"I think – I mean, we should save it for later. We're doing –"he planted another kiss on Amy's lips, "Okay. Now I'm stopping – let's go find some angels."

/\/\/\/\

Sherlock was in a foul mood. He'd been dragged out of Hell by an angel, forced to travel around in a Police Box that was _logically impossible _and was now hunting down statues that seemed to move in the blink of an eye – literally. He sighed dramatically, the bouncy and childish voice of The Doctor getting on his nerves. With a sigh, he decided to break the Time Lord's constant chatter,

"So they move when you blink – how?" He started; shoving his hands in the pockets of the mucky coat he'd been handed,

"Well, I'm not really sure. They just sort of move – I'm not even sure how to kill them. I just know if you make one angel stare at another they can no longer move." The Doctor waved his hands around mightily, annoying Sherlock even more. The Doctor only used grand gestures to seem smarter, Sherlock observed,

"Then why do you bother?" He questioned, a cold look forming on his face. This man before him was not the clever man the detective had assumed he was,

"Bother with what?" The Doctor replied, stopping to face the detective, eyes wide. The Detective could see the creases on his forehead from frowning too much, yet friendly lines by his eyes to make him seem merry. Despite noticing these qualities, all Sherlock could think was he was an inch or two taller than the supposed intergalactic being stood before him,

"Bother with trying to save the people, if in reality you can never _really_ save them." Images of Hell flashed behind Sherlock's iridescent eyes briefly, but he pushed them away. That was in the past, and it would be a smart move if he forgot everything that happened to him in the Pit. He raised his head ever so slightly, hands behind his back.

The Doctor's expression fell, and his version of Hell played in his brain – Rose Tyler at Badwolf Bay, kissing his clone goodbye. Donna not recognising him. Martha leaving. Sarah Jane – _Oh_, Sarah Jane Smith. The Master dying in his arms, like a wilted plant that had once been mesmerising. River Song dying right before him, before he even knew how important she would be. Stepping away from the man who looked so much like his previous face, he felt a curl of anger in his stomach,

"You know nothing about me, don't you _dare _say a thing," The Time Lord growled, feeling it was all he could say to the man. He knew the reply was weak, and he would most likely get a snarky remark back – so he began furiously walking once more down 5th Avenue. The gentle tap of Sherlock's converse followed him,

"Okay," He spoke from behind, and then the two remained in silence.

The Doctor could see statues littering New York – yet none took the shape of the angels he was desperate to find. It bothered him incredibly, yet he was not willing to confess that to Sherlock – he knew it was childish to stay mad at him, the detective didn't understand a thing about what had happened.

With that thought, he took a quick glance over his shoulder. However, instead of looking at Sherlock, he saw a familiar face about 20 metres behind the detective... a familiar face from 1969,

"Canton?" The Doctor blurted out. The man – Canton Delaware – didn't hear him. The Time Lord then noticed he was talking to another man; his face looked like it may have been burnt recently. Sherlock creased his eyebrows, his eyes fixed on the two men The Doctor was looking at so intently,

"An old friend, I assume?" He put his hands deep into the pockets of the long, coffee coat – when The Doctor noticed, he remembered _he _used to do that himself. Feeling he was too easily distracted by this mere gesture of familiarity, he forced himself to look at Canton again. This time, he was alone,

"Canton!" The Time Lord ignored the detective, scurrying up to his old friend – who had heard his name, but seemed to be looking extremely confused,

"Doctor?" Canton whispered – The Doctor could have sworn he sounded British – as the Time Lord approached, straightening his bow tie to smarten up. His old friend wore a solid black suit, similar to when The Doctor had last seen him,

"What on earth are you doing here?" Was the first question to leap from The Doctor's lips – not a greeting, or even an introduction of the detective stood beside him, "Last I saw you it was 1969... You look exactly the same and it's 2012. Discovered immortality, eh?" He teased, punching his old friend lightly in the arm along with a cheeky smirk,

"Nah, Doc, just discovered good ol' time travel, that's all. The bureau discovered things, you know how feds are," Canton drawled, seemingly pleased to see The Doctor. Sherlock frowned, having been examining the man as he spoke,

"Your accent is fake," The Detective stated, hands still deep in his pockets. Unaffected by the comment, Canton lifted his head,

"_Right._ And so's yours – what's your name?" Canton made eye contact with Sherlock, then put his hand out to greet him,

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. I don't want to shake your hand, thank you," The icy gaze of the detective didn't move from Canton's eyes once, who faltered at the unexpected attitude,

"No need to act like that, Sherlock. Canton's good! He can help us on our angel hunt – I'm assuming that's why you're here," The Doctor scowled briefly at Sherlock before smiling once more at his old friend,

"_Ange_l hunt?" Once again, Canton seemed confused, which puzzled The Doctor, "You've discovered angels now? I didn't think that was your thing, Doc..."

"Well – I meant Weeping Angels – but yes, I have discovered actual angels. One actually warned me of them being here – wait. How do you know about angels? I've been alive for – you know what, I give up. Everyone seems to know about angels, demons, the lot. All I know is alien," The Doctor rambled between Sherlock and Canton, waving his hands again. Sherlock latched his fingers around the wrist of the Time Lord,

"Shut up. We get it. Now, Canton, how do you know about angels? That isn't something FBI agents are meant to have knowledge of. Also, would you just speak in your regular accent – the fake American is typical and extremely annoying. You're lowering the little amount of patience I have," Sherlock pushed himself towards Canton, leaving The Doctor more annoyed than he already was. Canton shuffled his feet, much shorter than the intimidating detective with a gaze like knives. However, Canton was certainly not one to show weakness to these kinds of things,

"I know because I know. What angel warned you of the Weeping kind?" He turned to face The Doctor, who seemed happy to answer,

"He's called Castiel, he's currently with his demon girlfriend and probably the other two lads with us – they're called Sam and Dean Winchester. Rather strange, but excellent so far nonetheless."

Canton inwardly raged – feeling his true form bubble inside his vessel. It took him a lot of effort not to show any emotion towards The Doctor's reply. It also angered him how an ally of his from many years ago had betrayed him – It didn't matter whether it was unknowingly or not – to the two pests and their _bitches,_ who annoyed him most,

"I'd rather like to meet your new friends and tag along, if that's alright with you."

/\/\/\/\/\

Walking around Central Park with Rory was pleasant, but nothing more. Amy _liked_ how her husband was trying so hard, how he loved her so much. She _liked_ kissing him softly and sometimes passionately, then lying with him at night in their bed, intertwined like a cobweb. She _liked_ her life, but not how she used to.

For a long time, Amy had felt a continual feeling of just the same – she was an adventurous girl at heart, and was seeking change. Rory, The Doctor and aliens were beginning to become too familiar to her.

Amy could feel Rory's gaze on her, but she didn't want to look – in all honesty, she wanted to stay with the strangers who had joined their trip – particularly Sherlock and Sam. The detective was so similar to The Doctor in such a strange way; it fascinated her – left her wanting to know more about the man. Sam, on the other hand... He managed to look so childish and innocent while having an air of power, along with being much taller than her. Most boys, including Rory and The Doctor, were near enough her height. Also, Sam seemed to have a particular interest in her – not just because of how she looked, but because of her _name_. The only other person to ever show interest in her name was The Doctor – _"Like a name in a fairytale."_

Rory and Amy did not speak as they walked down another path of Central Park; fingers interlocked loosely, their attention on things that weren't the other. Amy loved Rory, she really did, but now she felt a sense of... drifting. Is this what happened to couples who had known each other for so long? Amy and Rory were now 28 – they had been tied together romantically for over ten years. She felt, perhaps... No. She didn't want to think of what it would do to Rory.

Attention on the path at last, Amy saw three familiar people a dozen or so metres away – the angel Castiel lay on the floor, coughing and groaning, Sam crouched down next to him. Meg, the demon who Amy hadn't spoken to yet, was staring down... A Weeping Angel,

"You stare at the angel, I'll see what's wrong with Castiel," Amy ordered, not looking at Rory – she couldn't, it made her feel guilty, and she launched down the path.

Stopping abruptly, she fell next to Sam – who seemed surprised to see her so close. His eyes widened, resembling those of a puppy, and it made Amy want to smile,

"What happened to him?" She asked, breaking eye contact. She hadn't spoken to Sam yet, yet already got the feeling he was a nice guy,

"He says he can hear the angel talking... in Enochian, basically angel language. It's hurting him somehow... I mean, it could be a spell or something." Amy liked how smooth his accent was, and how he knew things she had never heard of before. Suddenly feeling awkward, Amy wasn't entirely sure how to reply,

"Well... One day you're gonna have to teach me how that sounds... And I'll teach you alien. Sound good?" She grinned, then heard a chuckle from behind her,

"Amelia, I see you found my brother... Sammy likes the name Amelia, you know," Dean held a couple water bottles along with an amulet, a cross hanging from it, "Cas, I got the holy water," He pulled the top off a bottle, and bobbed down next to Amy,

"That's... Lovely. Call me Amy though," She looked curiously at the holy water – obviously she'd heard of it, but never thought it was real,

"Amy Pond, huh?" Sam was looking down at Cas, purposely avoiding looking Amy in the eye. He had noticed her eyes were those hazel ones that changed in the light from murky green to a chocolate brown – her eyeliner made them look bolder and wider. He paused before saying what he wanted to say – then decided he may as well give it a shot. He looked up at her, a small smile ghosting his lips: "Cute name."

With a nod, Amy looked at the tall man next to her, "That's a new one. Normally I get fairytale," She turned to Dean, "What exactly does the holy water do?" Amy wanted to stop_... flirting_ with another man. It made her feel worse about Rory. Unfortunately, Dean was grinning mischievously as she looked at him,

"Well... _Amy, _it's basically purifying, and Cas is saying these energies are very bad for angels. I didn't know this before today; normally holy water is used on demons since they hate the stuff. Literally crash and burn," Dean watched as the angel beneath him sipped the liquid, until eventually half the bottle was gone. Cas sat up, still looking slightly pained,

"I think I can destroy it," He held the half empty bottle, looking at it intently before glugging down the contents, "Give me another," Cas outstretched his hand towards Dean,

"The Doctor says they can't be destroyed though," Amy's eyebrows creased, certain that her raggedy man knew everything about these beings. He'd faced them before he'd even met Amy, before he'd even had the face The Doctor had now.

Cas turned to look at Amy, holding a full bottle in his hand,

"The Doctor never knew what they truly were," He said, then began chugging down the bottle with loud gulps. Dean sighed,

"Cas, you'll be sick if you drink that quickly," He sounded more friendly then fatherly with the comment, which would normally be associated with family advice. Amy hadn't quite figured out the relationships of these new people, and it intrigued her. She had never had siblings, neither had Rory – so this was all new to her, along with the fact she'd never known any angels either. However, The Doctor was probably something similar – being a "Lord of Time" and all that.

Cas finished the bottle, then stood up – seeming to be perfectly fine. Sam, who had been silently looking at Amy – then feeling bad about it – stood up also. Amy hopped to her feet with them, but lost her step,

"Woah there –" Sam grabbed her back, preventing her from falling on his brother. Dean smirked as his younger brother looked up at him, then hurriedly moved his hand towards his hair, pushing it back,

"Thanks, Sam," Amy replied, finding it satisfying that she could look up to him instead of straight ahead. Once again, she felt bad, so forced herself to walk towards Rory.

He had been talking to Meg, both faced towards the Weeping Angel, obviously taking turns blinking. Rory looked annoyed – at Amy, most likely. She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by the churning noise of the TARDIS materialising.

A hollow "bong" alerted everyone of the TARDIS's presence, and the door screeched open. Sherlock walked out first, looking rather moody with his hands deep in his pockets. He stopped awkwardly beside Amy, who gave him a friendly smile even though he didn't even bother to look at her,

"Canton, meet the gang! You already know Amy and Rory, obviously!" The Doctor leapt out of the TARDIS merrily, talking to someone who was still inside. Amy remembered Canton well, and grinned.

Canton stepped out of the TARDIS slowly, a smile on his face that looked far too sinister to be friendly. Confused, Amy took a step forward – noticing Canton's gaze was set on Sam, Dean, Meg and Castiel,

"Hello boys. I see you brought your pets!" He laughed, his accent British – Sherlock cleared his throat,

"I did tell you it was fake," He mumbled, "You should probably listen to me, I knew something was off!" He shot at The Doctor. Amy turned to the two brothers, confused. She saw Sam and Dean's expressions – they looked _really _pissed off,

"Canton..." The Doctor started, his voice serious,

"It's _Crowley_. You betrayed me, Doctor, and I don't like traitors! You're working with those bloody _Winchester's _who do nothing but meddle where they shouldn't!" He yelled, then swiped his hand – The Doctor went flying like a food wrapper being carelessly tossed over a shoulder, causing Amy to shriek in terror as her best friend thudded on the grass over ten metres away from where he originally stood, a groan escaped from his lips,

"Doctor!"

"Amy!" Both Rory and Sam cried her name as she yelled for her friend, causing the red head to stop. Canton – Crowley – gasped in mock-surprise, edging closer to Amy,

"Bit of a player, Moose? Or has Amy switched from Centurion to Hunter?" He grinned wickedly, his eyes fleeting across from the Winchester's towards Sherlock, "How's the lone wolf of the pack? I can still see Hell's fire in your eyes, boy." Crowley flipped his fingers again, sending Sherlock flying just as he had with The Doctor. Amy's eyes wandered after him, but she didn't dare move in case Crowley did the same to her, "You weren't supposed to get out of that one. Guess it was your idiot angel buddy, correct?"

Amy, reminded by Crowley, peered to look at the Weeping Angel , who strangely hadn't moved even though nobody had been looking at it. The thought caused her heart to pump faster – had Cas stopped it, or was it Crowley?

"Sending innocent souls to Hell isn't allowed, Crowley," Cas, with a flutter, appeared in front of Amy, causing her to yelp in her panic. A metallic sound echoed in her ears, and it took Amy a minute to realise Cas had a silver blade in his hand – shimmering in the afternoon sun hauntingly,

"Did I break some rules? Oops," Crowley taunted, then took a step towards Castiel, "I hope you still remember our agreement we had -"

"Shut up, you ass." Cas swung his blade forward rapidly, expecting to slash the man in the dark suit, but instead waved his blade stupidly through thin air,

"Ass? I am willing to accept that." Crowley's voice echoed from the direction of the Weeping Angel, who was now stood up straight and smiling like a freaky, porcelain doll. Cas squinted and turned his head,

"What do you want, Crowley?" He rasped, blade firmly in hand.

Amy side stepped towards Rory, the distance between them short, feeling it was the right moment as Crowley's attention was not on her. Her husband stared at her, eyes wide and worried for his wife,

"Not so fast," Crowley appeared behind Amy, Weeping Angel at his side, "Since you appear to be... The girl everyone wants..." He peered towards Sam, winked, then tapped the shoulder of the angel beside him, "This one's on you, Moose." Too quickly for anyone to see, it threw its stony hand forward and touched Amy's shoulder – causing her to disappear,

"_Amy_!" Rory screamed, leaping forward – but Amy, Crowley and the Weeping Angel were gone. The older Winchester cursed under his breath; meanwhile the younger darted towards Rory,

"Rory – we'll get her back. Don't be angry, please, we're gonna get her –" He said firmly, but Rory was too stunned to notice. Slowly, he glanced up at Sam, feeling rage boil inside him,

"You did that," He mumbled, slightly awed. Sam edged backwards, his brother stepping towards him. Meg and Cas had both run to the two men who had been flung,

"Get up, Cheekbones. No time for naps," Could be heard between, "You did that to _my wife_!" as Dean stepped towards his brother and Rory,

"Hey! Calm it, would you? Losing your crap over this won't solve anything!" Dean bellowed, which angered Rory even more. Hesitating momentarily, he pounded a punch right into Sam's face, causing him to almost topple on to his brother with a loud grunt. Another smack cracked Sam's lip, which was enough for Dean – he pounced at Rory, falling to the floor on top of him. Dean held the scrawny man down, who flailed like a drying up fish beneath him,

"Stop fighting!" Castiel appeared beside the older Winchester and the smaller man, yanking Dean away by his jacket. He stared into his best friend's eyes furiously, before turning to see Meg and Sherlock walk over. The Doctor was heaving himself towards them too,

"I need to get her back –" Rory started, but was shushed by the angel,

"We need to find out how, first. I feel like she's been sent –"

"She's been sent back in time, you _idiot_! Just shut up, we need to get her! Doctor, find her with the TARDIS, _come on_!" The former Centurion cried, anger and sadness clear in his eyes. The Doctor shook his head,

"I have no idea what time she's in, Rory..." the Time Lord mumbled, "Even if we looked, the chances would be one in a billion."

Sam wiped his lip, his brow furrowed, and spoke up, "The only way to get her would be through Crowley, that's how he works. God – why did you let him in? Sherlock said he seemed shifty!", Sam barked at The Doctor, annoyed.

"Sam, he was my friend." He replied, cocking his head to make eye contact with the Winchester, "Friends don't tend to betray me like that –"

"Shut up, guys. I'm a demon, I'll do my thing. Now get your balls on and suck it up, alright? Jesus," Meg snapped, marching off down the path. After glimpsing at Dean briefly, Cas followed her.

Rory gave a heated stare to Sam, then stomped towards the TARDIS – feeling unreal and physically sick over the disappearance of his wife. The younger Winchester scowled back, licking his split lip,

"Doctor, I know a way to get her back... But it's dumb. A demon deal, but we could rig it somehow -"

"Sam, _no_. We are not doing that _ever, _okay? Maybe Cas can find her."

Rory stopped, hearing what Sam had said – maybe he wasn't entirely worthless and irritating after all.


	4. Chapter 4: Sam's Inner Angel

_**Hell**_

Everything was white and black, all at the same time. Sometimes heat would blister her skin, sometimes a numbing cold would freeze over new scars. Amy felt groggy and drunk – her emotions and reactions had been dulled and slowed. The will to fight off all this pain being thrown at her was extremely slim,

"_Amelia_..." A voice crooned in her ear – she could not tell whether it was male or female, her brain wouldn't work. Without realising they were shut in the first place, Amy opened her hazel eyes slowly,

"Awake now, I see?" The same voice chimed. Amy could now recognise it was male, but not a familiar one. After forcing herself to think, she remembered the voice had an Irish accent.

Blinking hard, Amy grunted. She tried to sit up – registering she was laying down – but seemed to be tied on to a metal table. Instead, she lifted her head – seeing she was naked under leather straps across her chest and hip areas. Her ankles and wrists were bound with metal chains, tight and irritating on her fair skin.

For the first time, she saw the owner of the voice – an average height man in a suit, with dark hair and dark eyes. When she looked again, she realised the dark eyes were completely solid obsidian; no whites and no irises at all. Amy's face contorted in shock, causing the man to throw his head back and cackle,

"Never seen a demon? I wonder if your dear _Sherlock_ has mentioned me. After all, I died right in front of him before he burnt in the very place you are now, Amelia," The man chuckled ominously, stepping towards Amy, brushing his fingers across her lightly freckled face. Instead of feeling soft, his hand seemed to slice her cheek like razor sharp blades – causing blood to leak and Amy to whimper like a puppy. The man simply chuckled, then walked across the room – if it _was _a room.

"John Watson was exactly the same as you. But then I brought him here – didn't I, John?"

"Let me _go_!" A voice growled, sounding hungry and raw. The tone caused Amy to shiver,

"But now, Amelia, he's going to host one of us. He, too, will be like me – demon. All powerful, and you are going to watch." The man in the suit ignored the cry of John. Amy could not see him at this angle, so wasn't sure what was going on.

Like a dentist chair, the metal bed moved so Amy could see John – a middle aged looking man, whose face was scarred and bloody. Chunks of hair had been torn from his head, revealing a too-pink scalp.

The man with dark hair snapped his fingers, summoning what seemed to be black smoke – the room immediately stank of Amy's old chemistry lab at school. She gagged; the odour was strong on her weakened lungs,

"_Watch._" The man flicked his hand; causing Amy to crane her neck so quickly it could have been broken. When she tried to move it from discomfort, she couldn't – it had been fixed.

The black smoke spiralled around John, then seemed to prise open his mouth – causing John to make a muffled choking sound, then splutter like a child. The dark substance rolled effortlessly into his mouth as he struggled, until it was all gone. John slumped and then laid still, eyes shut.

The man began undoing the chains on John – who was clothed, unlike Amy. She assumed he was dead, and that the man had murdered him.

However, Amy's thoughts were wrong – John sat up, eyes darker than night, a psychotic grin on his once scarred face. Now all the wounds were healing too fast to be possible,

"By the way, Amelia," The man placed his hand on John's shoulder, "My name is Jim Moriarty."

/\/\/\/\

_**Central Park**_

Meg was bored of the usual bitchy fights between all the men she knew – and they thought _girls_ were bad. Her boots clicked furiously on the path through Central Park, and were interrupted by the dull thudding of what could only be her unicorn's smart shoes,

"Were those ladies too much for you, Clarence?" Meg purred sarcastically, not bothering to look at her angel. A stop in his footsteps caused the demon to stop with him,

"They're males, Meg. I think you've mistaken genders," Cas replied innocently with his raspy voice, his eyes big and blue. The demon turned around, a smirk on her too-red lips,

"I must say, it's very cute when you don't get sarcasm, Clarence. Big baby in a trench coat, that's all you are," She strode up to him, so close that their bodies were barely 3 inches apart. Even in high heeled boots, however, Cas was at least six inches taller than Meg's petite meatsuit. The angel had a sudden look of surprise on his face, which made the demon's stomach tingle slightly.

Cas was a stranger to emotions. As an angel, they were not particularly felt – so when he had taken over Jimmy Novak's body he had suddenly begun to feel everything humans felt. They were hard to define and still were at that moment. All he knew was that he could _not_ stop thinking of the incident between the two of them to do with the Pizza Man,

"Meg, I need some help," Cas started, his face holding an expression of concern. Meg backed away slightly, her dark lips parted,

"With what? How to understand sarcasm? It'll come with time, Clarence," The demon smirked,

"No... Not that," The angel frowned and tilted his head, not entirely sure how to say what he wanted to say, "There is a strange_... tingling_ sensation in my stomach,"

Meg laughed loudly, "You probably ate something funny," She poked his stomach playfully, but Cas kept a serious expression,

"No, Meg. I feel the strange tingling whenever I'm near _you_," The angel looked at his too-shiny black shoes, feeling another emotion that made him want to curl up in a ball and hide away for hours. His heart began thudding in his chest, sweat began making his neck sticky, "Sorry, I believe I need to get medical advice, my heart isn't supposed to have palpitations," The angel wiped the back of his neck, unsure as to why he was leaking. He slid his damp hand along his trench coat, not liking the feel of the sticky substance.

The demon before him chuckled, mostly at Cas, but partly at herself. Was her unicorn harbouring a crush? She couldn't deny it was very cute,

"Clarence, you don't need any medicine for that. It's normal," She said, deciding to ignore her urge to be snarky and rude. The demon cautiously stepped back towards her unicorn, smiling genuinely, "You've got a crush,"

Cas' eyebrows furrowed even more, "That sounds rather violent," his chapped lips parted, which made the demon's eyes flicker to and from them.

"You could say that," Meg drawled, then pushed her hand to his shoulder, "Now it's my turn to be the Pizza Man,"

Meg tangled her arms around the angel's neck and kissed him full on the mouth, which was unexpected by the angel. A rush of something coiled in his stomach – a good something, which made him want to kiss the demon back. He found himself subconsciously putting his slender hands on Meg's waist and tilting his head, kissing her back with force. It was the second time he'd kissed Meg, and he didn't deny he liked kissing her far more than expected.

Cas felt Meg's small hands latch on to the undone belt of his overcoat, pulling him even closer to the demon than he already was. Remembering the Pizza Man's actions towards the babysitter, he shoved his hand roughly into Meg's hair – the silky texture pleasant on his rough hands. The demon seemed to sigh in content, which please Cas even more.

Back by the TARDIS, where The Doctor and Sam argued, Dean looked up. All he saw was his best friend making out with Meg, and he couldn't deny it hurt him. Meg was teasing Cas along to get what she wanted like demons _do_ – dammit. He rolled his eyes, then smacked his brother's shoulder,

"Would you stop whining? Our freaking angel is having sexy time with our not-so-friend demon," Dean pointed in their direction with an unamused expression. Sam looked over, along with The Doctor,

"Oh for God's sake," The Time Lord moaned, "I have enough of that with Amy and Rory!" He straightened his bow tie and gulped, then looked away, "They're getting a little inappropriate – "

"Why do you care, Dean? They've had their eye on each other for ages," The younger Winchester said, pushing away thoughts of Amy. He felt stupid – _It was just her name_, "It's about time Cas got laid, right? He's been a virgin for like two thousand years – I thought you were determined to get him hooked up?"

"Not with _her_!" Dean spat.

The Doctor stared at Sam and Dean in horror, never having had these sorts of conversations in the thousand years he'd been alive. Even River never – okay. River _did_ bring those things up; The Doctor just ignored her and blushed quietly,

"_Son of a bitch_," Dean murmured, then marched towards the angel and demon, who were tied together like a damn shoelace. When his brother was a few metres away, Sam leaned towards The Doctor,

"Sometimes I really wonder if he's crushing on Cas, but then I remember Dean only likes his car _that_ way," He tried to joke, but The Doctor didn't seem to understand. Sam sighed, deciding to go find Rory to sort out their problem.

Meg smiled into another kiss, liking the feeling of Cas' fingers wound up in her hair. She couldn't deny she'd wanted to kiss the angel for a long time, but was convinced he was too naive to understand romance in the slightest. Apparently _not_,

"Would you get your hands off each other?" The deep voice of Dean grunted, infuriating Meg. Instead of letting go instantly like Cas seemed to try to, she lengthened the kiss by a couple dragging seconds before pulling away,

"Problem?" She licked her lip, now salmon pink, with her hand still on Cas' shoulder. The angel looked guilty, his lips reddened from Meg's lipstick,

"Yes, I have a problem. Stop playing around with him," Dean scowled at the demon, then looked at his best friend. He looked ridiculous – tie pulled away messily, lips coated in lipstick. Dean sighed, "I can't _believe_ you'd fall for that one, Cas! Out of the girl's you pick _that_!"

Annoyed, Dean strode back to the TARDIS, seeing Sherlock lurking by it, swiping his hand across his face in annoyance.

/\/\/\/\

Rory sat in the TARDIS console room, face in his hands. First he'd cried, then he'd screamed, then he'd ended up where he was. Feeling like a sulking toddler, Rory thought about making a deal with a demon – it couldn't be that bad. He'd just... offer up a lot of money.

He heard the TARDIS doors creak open, so looked up. To his disappointment, it was Sam. All of this was _his_ fault,

"What do you want?" Rory shot at him, wiping his face in case there was any excess moisture.

Coldness crept up Sam's spine, just like when he told The Doctor about demon deals, causing his head to twitch. He walked grandly towards the Centurion, suddenly feeling angry and determined to cause chaos,

"You can get Amy back in a demon deal," Sam said, though it felt like someone else had said it. He tried to frown in confusion, but his face didn't seem to let him,

"Dean said they're bad – is that true?" Rory looked up hopefully, his elbows on his knees. He was happy Sam was trying to help – but had the side thought he wanted to bring Amy back for himself,

"It's... risky. But I'm sure you'll be fine," The younger Winchester tilted his head, his brain telling him not to talk, but it wouldn't obey him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. It was a page ripped from a book on summoning demons, which definitely hadn't been there before, "Here, now go get your girl," he said, reaching his hand out to give the paper to Rory, a content smirk pulling at his lips. Inwardly, Sam was trying to pull away – but he couldn't.

Rory took the paper, then smiled. He rushed away to what could only be his bedroom, set on summoning a demon, thanks to Sam.

_What a naughty boy, Sam. I know you've got a thing for his wife... But sending his soul to hell? Really? That's pretty low._

Sam turned around unwillingly, seeing Lucifer leaning against the closed TARDIS doors. His face was more scarred than it had been in every other hallucination, and he was dressed in a white suit. Inside his head, Sam was picturing his scar – but Lucifer was not disappearing,

_Go to your room, Sammy. I'm _very _disappointed in you._

Lucifer flicked his wrist, and instantly Sam began walking to the room he'd been given by The Doctor. He continued forcefully stomping to his room, until he stood inside – the cold chill dispersed, causing Sam to drop to the floor and groan loudly.

What the hell had he done? He needed to stop Rory – but the feeling, that feeling had only ever come up around Rory. He knew if he tried to stop Rory, he'd just be interrupted.

Maybe he could tell Dean? He shoved his hand into his pocket, grabbing his phone – trying to dial his brother's number. However, the feeling came again – stopping him from typing and instead making him put his phone back in his pocket. After the feeling disappeared again, Sam yelled in frustration.

Something was happening to him again, and he knew he'd have to deal with it alone.

/\/\/\/\

Sherlock leaned against the TARDIS, hands in his pockets. Crowley had shocked him, possibly even scared him. _How's the lone wolf of the pack? I can still see Hell's fire in your eyes, boy._

He could remember the constant pain and feeling of his soul being battered by the hammer that was Hell; all the memories were fresh. With a grunt, he leaned away from the TARDIS, only to see Dean in front of him,

"Hey," Dean got his attention. Sherlock stood up straighter, a habit he had developed to show authority. His head tilted ever so slightly as he spoke,

"What do you want, Dean?" He sighed. Unlike The Doctor, Dean was taller than The Detective,

"Crowley said something about you and Hell... Did you..?" The older Winchester started, but didn't need an answer – he saw it written all over Sherlock's face, even though he tried to hide it. Dean sighed, peering at the floor momentarily before edging closer to the British man,

"Dean, you wouldn't understand – "

"Actually, yes I do. I've been in the Pit too, buddy," The hunter push his shoulder against the TARDIS, fiddling with his hands, "I sold my soul for my brother's life, man. He got murdered – long story. Then I went to Hell a year later. Then Cas... He got me out. Four months I was down there, felt like forty damn years. He saved me, and I owe him everything," Dean stared at his hands, feeling as if he'd been too vulnerable. He waited for Sherlock's reaction, which wasn't what he expected,

"Did you burn? Did you burn and burn and then regenerate and burn some more?" Sherlock questioned, his voice monotone. Dean chewed his lip before replying,

"At first I did, then after the first ten years I began torturing souls," He looked up, seeing Sherlock staring at him, "Did you torture?"

"I wasn't there for that long," He replied, "_I_ was the one being tortured."

Dean didn't know Sherlock, but had assumed he was a very pompous and antisocial man. Despite this, the hunter pat his shoulder, looking him in the eye,

"If you ever feel low, which you will, believe me, I'm here to help, man," Dean nodded briefly, then moved his hand. Sherlock's face remained straight,

"I shall keep that in mind."

/\/\/\/\

"Sam?"

The younger Winchester sat on the floor of his bedroom, back against the cool wall, his face buried in his large hands. The sound of the voice caught his attention, so he moved them out the way.

Stood in the doorway, The Doctor sheepishly tugged at his jacket. Clearly, he was not one for comforting, "Are you alright?"

Wishing he could reply truthfully, Sam simply replied: "I'm fine, Doc," With an unconvincing tone. The Time Lord smiled slightly, then trotted towards him and sat next to the larger man,

"I can see you're not fine. Apparently you're _never_ fine, but now you're more not-fine than normal," The Doctor rambled, then looked at Sam, who had become interested by a hole in his jeans, "...Is it Amy?"

_No._

"Something like that," The unwanted chill tugged at the small of his back, forcing him to look back at the Time Lord. The expression returned was the typical one – _I knew it. _Sam tried to sigh, but once again he could not, "I mean, I've barely spoken to her, I have no right to be sad –"

"Yes you do. Once you walk into this TARDIS, you're part of the gang!" The Doctor chimed, but was given a straight expression back. He was awkward – he hated having conversations about lovers and loving and all that _mush_ that he didn't understand at all,

"It's her _name_. The first girl I had a crush on... She was called Amelia Pond – she also shortened it to Amy. Then she ended up being a kitsune – basically she killed people – and it wasn't really... Well. You can guess it was bad. It was her mom though, killing things, and then Amy killed her mom. Then she ran off... Haven't seen her since," The cold feeling forced Sam to talk, although never would he have said any of that out loud – not even to Dean. Inside, he was getting more and more frustrated,

"Oh." The Doctor replied simply, not entirely sure how to handle the situation. He shuffled uncomfortably, then gulped,

"I mean... Amy was just a crush. And now _this_ Amy... I don't know. She's very pretty," The thing controlling Sam made him smile, "It's my fault she's gone, though. I've gotta fix it, Doc,"

"It's alright, Sam. We can all help fix it," The Doctor patted the hunter's arm once, then heaved himself off the floor. Sam stay sat, watching the Time Lord with his sea coloured eyes, "I think you like three letter nicknames. Cas, Amy, Doc... Hope you feel better, Sam," Chuckling slightly, The Doctor turned, walking in his usual style to the door of the bedroom.

Now The Doctor was gone, the feeling deceased, and Sam hurriedly stood up. Frustration overtook him, and he launched his fist at the wall – which was, in fact, solid metal. The younger Winchester hissed in pain, feeling his knuckles crack from the force. Wincing, he held his injured hand with the other, resting his forehead on the wall.

_I think you need some help there, Sammy - _

"_Shut up_!" Sam roared back at the hallucination, who once again wore the white suit. His expression shifted to mock-confusion, along with a sickly smirk.

_Finally! I've been wanting you to talk to me for ages, Sammy. It gets awfully boring when you ignore me for four months. So what's the gossip?_

Consumed with an uncontainable anger, Sam stormed out of his room and into the console room – which was empty, of course – and thrust open the TARDIS doors once he reached them. He could see Cas looking guilty whilst Meg seemed to lecture him about something; his brother talking to Sherlock, and The Doctor stood with them. Rory was obviously still inside, pouring over summoning a _demon_ to get back his freaking wife, thanks to Sam.

With a flutter, Cas appeared beside Sam, his usual expression of confusion or possibly interest on his face. His head tilted; Sam looked down at him,

"There's energies coming from you, Sam," Cas stated, concerned. Sam huffed loudly, clenching his fists – but yelped in pain as his injured fist tensed. Ignoring the fact he was in public, he screamed the first swear word that came into mind as loudly as possible – hearing it echo around the area they were stood. It attracted the attention of all of the "crew" – who turned to him - along with every other member of the public who'd heard his cry. They probably already thought they were strange – they had a massive blue British Police Box, which was strange even for New York,

"I've barely ever heard you swear, let alone scream it to the heavens, Sammy," Dean commented, smirking at first – then noticed his brother was clearly in pain, so jogged over and grasped his younger brother's shoulders, "What did you do?"

Sam didn't want to speak, so lifted his obviously broken hand. Dean stared at it, confused, "What the hell, man?"

Cas, knowing the usual drill, placed his hand on Sam's broken one and willed it to heal – but it wouldn't. The angel frowned; trying again – but it wouldn't heal,

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean grumbled, watching his friend stare at his hand intently,

"It won't heal..." The angel blinked hard, becoming slightly overwhelmed by the aura radiating from Sam – it was identical to the one he'd felt from the Weeping Angel, just not as strong and without the Enochian rumbling in his ears, "Sam, there's something wrong with you,"

"No there isn't," The thing controlling Sam said, but it was clear Cas could sense it – his lips parted and he shifted in understanding. He lifted two fingers to Sam's forehead, and unintentionally backed away,

"Sam... Let me help," The angel tried placing his fingers on Sam's forehead – but the younger hunter kept backing away. Dean latched his hands around his brother's arms, pressing his lips together firmly,

"The hell is wrong with you, man?" He said forcefully in his brother's face, but Sam continued backing up, "Cas!"

Rapidly, the angel touched his palm to the younger Winchester's face – feeling the creature inside his friend's mind. He groaned, attempting to eradicate it – but it was like there was a wall made of solid iron in his way. Cas squeezed his eyes shut, tugging violently at the pest,

"Cas, you're burning him – stop!" Dean shoved away Cas' arm, causing the angel's eyes to open. A smell of burnt flesh hung in the air – it didn't take Cas long to realise why. A hand print was scorched across Sam's face – which was quickly hidden behind his hands as he knelt to the floor, clearly in a _lot_ of pain,

"C'mon Sam, dammit," Dean grunted, tugging at his brother, "Sammy," He coaxed.

Sam swore repeatedly again, his hand was aching in an indescribable way; his face was scorched and he could literally _feel_ the blisters forming. As his brother shoved his hands under his shoulders, Sam cooperated – still swearing. He could hear them walk into the TARDIS, along with what was probably everyone else. After about a minute, the younger Winchester felt himself fall back on something soft – a bed, clearly. Probably his own,

"What are we gonna do?" The deep voice of his brother dripped with concern, "Anybody got any bandages or whatever... Since Cas burnt his goddamn _face off_,"

Cas shuffled in the doorway next to Meg, which annoyed Dean even more. He despised the fact they decided to go and eat each other's faces off,

"Rory's a nurse!" The Doctor cried out merrily, "I'll go find him," Dull footsteps could be heard leaping down the TARDIS corridor until they faded away – leaving Dean, Meg, Cas and Sherlock with Sam. He still had his hands over his face, but had stopped swearing to viciously,

"He has a Weeping Angel inside him," Cas stated, which earned glances from everyone in the room, "The vision he had... He saw one. Only, back then, the angel was blocking me from knowing it – I remember now. Whatever takes the image of an angel _is_ an angel – so when Sam saw it..." The angel trailed off, stepping closer to Sam,

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled, placing his hand on Sam's large foot, "Hang in there, Sammy."

The younger Winchester groaned in reply, too consumed in pain to be able to form words that weren't the swearing kind. He heard Sherlock sigh,

"We should really apply something cold to his face, don't you think?" He said in his typical tone, aiming it at Dean. The hunter shrugged, not sure what to reply – but was interrupted by The Doctor running into the doorway,

"Rory's gone," He panted, holding a bag – which was Dean's. The hunter folded his arms, recognising it, "And so's half your demonic rubbish."


End file.
